Tales from the Vault
by D-f-melo22
Summary: Insights into Missy and the Doctor's life in the Vault over 70 years
1. Chapter 1

The electric shock may not have killed Missy, but it certainly stunned her. After her initial theatrics, the Time Lady had been rather subdued and remained so for several days. As the Doctor and Nardole headed to place Missy in the Vault, she hadn't stirred and remained a dead weight in his arms. The Doctor had placed her in the middle of the Vault without gentleness, momentarily crouching down to check she was breathing properly. Internally, he had to keep telling himself he wasn't making a huge mistake.

"She's out for a few hours," he grumbled as he pulled a bag out of his pocket with trembling fingers and threw it over to Nardole. "Hold that open, I'm going to collect any weapons on her person"

Nardole eyed the Mistress' crumpled form placed unceremoniously in the bare Vault with an odd mixture of caution and concern. He had heard stories of the atrocities caused by her hand. Often, such actions had been carried out on no more than a whim. Right now, however, she looked fragile. Her bulky clothing swamped her and bruises and cuts that weren't visible when she was kneeled awaiting her fate lined her pale skin, now in full sight of everyone who gave her a second glance.

It took at least half an hour for the Doctor to be ninety percent certain he had retrieved all the weapons she was carrying. He wouldn't be able to search her properly until Nardole had left and she was a bit more awake; he wouldn't feel comfortable undressing her until she was at least somewhat aware of it.

"Right," Nardole said into the silent Vault. They'd been sat in silence for the better part of the evening. The Doctor pretending to read an old paperback while really keeping an eye on Missy as Nardole hovered awkwardly on the periphery. Missy had remained pretty much out of it for the evening, bar the occasional bleary mumbling. "Do you think it's about time we got going?"

"You go," the Doctor responded instantly. "I'm going to stay here tonight."

"Doctor," Nardole started hesitantly- a heavy warning hanging in the air. "This wasn't part of the oath."

"I need to keep an eye on her tonight and check she doesn't try anything" he said. And check she is okay. Nardole made a small noise of protest and turned to walk out of the Vault. He made it to the threshold when the Doctor spoke up again. "Oh, I've sent a list of things to the Tardis that we need to get to make this place a bit more liveable for her. Make yourself useful and go and get them."

After a bit of grumbling, Nardole padded out of the room and left the two time lords alone.

It took three days for Missy to wake up long enough to be aware of anything other than a banging headache or general lethargy. When she finally woke up properly, she was hit by a wave of confusion. This wasn't the cell she'd spent the past few years of her life in while waiting for the arrangements of her execution to be finalised. She was no longer laying in a damp cabin-esque building with only a concrete bed, but instead was positioned on a plush mattress with a blanket draped carefully over her form. Rolling over, she attempted to sit up but ended up being jolted back by the chain around her wrist.

Ah, not quite freedom, she thought to herself as she flopped back against the bed and tried to remember what course of events had led her to her current predicament. To her surprise, she felt relatively calm and safe. She hadn't felt safe in a time longer than she could remember, certainly not in this incarnation.

"Have some water." A gruff voice ordered, shoving a bottle of Evian water in front of her.

"Doctor," Missy gasped in genuine surprise. She usually managed to sense him but not this time. That was strange. The Doctor caught her look of confusion and resolved to explain all the Vault's features over the next few days. She wasn't going to react well to having all her control taking away.

"Doctor?" Missy repeated this time as a question as she scrambled to catch up with what was going on. She'd been in prison awaiting her execution, awaiting another Time Lord to carry out the deed. Ah. The penny dropped as Missy quirked her lips into a smirk. "Doctor, Doctor, Doctor" she chorused, smirk growing into a proud grin.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," the Doctor said. "Now have a drink, you've been out of it for three days." Compassion didn't come naturally to him in this body, but that didn't mean he was willing to watch her make herself ill.

Missy ignored the water bottle thrust in her face and stared up at the Doctor in awe. "You saved me. You actually saved me," she beamed and pointedly ignored the water bottle.

"Drink the water, Missy." The Doctor was stern and resolute. "Or I will attach you to a drip and I know how much you would love that." He warned dryly, prompting Missy to relent and drink the water in great gulps.

Once the water was finished, she passed it back to him holding it out just long enough for him to reach out before dropping it onto the floor and descending into giggles.

"If you're quite finished," he sighed as he crouched down and retrieved the bottle, "we need to discuss what comes next. And what you've missed while you've been sleeping off your electric hangover."

"What comes next?" Missy scoffed, making to sit up and forgetting her restraints. "That's simple: You help me get back to my Tardis and then we'll part ways for another few decades one suspects. Now be a dear and undo this," she waved her left wrist at him and puffed out her cheeks. The handcuffs clanged against the bed frame and sent echoes around the barren Vault. It was threadbare with only the bed and two chairs withheld in a hexagonal cage. The beams illuminated a fluorescent blue and buzzed away like a heartbeat.

For the first time since awakening, Missy realised where she was. This had been built as her tomb, the silly fool was really going through with it this time.

He was going to keep her. He was going to try to redeem her.

The Doctor watched on as Missy realised where they were and what was happening.

"You were serious about this?" She spat, aghast. "Well I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not happening. I'm not going to be your pet project."

"You have no choice," he stated instantly. "We're friends and we always have been but something needs to change. I'm starting that change now."

"Urgh," Missy sighed rolling her eyes up to the sky. "You sound like a therapist in a self-help magazine."

Beneath her sarcasm, the Doctor could sense her growing agitation and carefully watched the way her eyes began to scan the Vault for an escape route.

"You're not getting out. There's no escape this time, we're facing what we've both been running from for centuries. And yes, I may well be like your therapist. I'll also be your jailor but most of all, I'll be your friend."

Missy snarled at that, bearing all her teeth like a cornered animal running out of options. The Doctor backed away pre-emptively as he felt the anger radiating from her. "You're a sanctimonious bastard," she spat as she lunged forward only to be pulled back by her restraints. "Who do you think you are?"

"I think I'm your friend," he replied walking out of the forcefield and adjusting the settings via his watch. "And I'm the only one you've got."

"I hate you. I'll hate you forever if you do this to me." Missy was shouting by this stage, a slightly raised voice turning to screeched hysterics in under a second.

"No, you don't and no you won't."

The Doctor pressed a button that undid her handcuffs and pointed at the hexagonal cage.

"If you try to get through that forcefield, you'll be tasered. Seen as though you're still recovering from your latest jaunt with electrocution, I wouldn't recommend it."

Missy hissed at him but remained frozen in the centre of the mattress, seemingly weighing up her options. The Doctor started to head towards the door, pausing and turning to look back as he reached them. "I'm going to leave you alone to let this sink in and get used to being on your own" he explained, knowing they were both at the start of a very long journey.

"There's a deck of cards and some books to keep you company," he muttered nodding at the stack of paper backs before disappearing out of the Vault.

When the Doctor returned, it was sixty-eight hours later. He'd heard Missy's protests from his office and had been fully expecting the carnage he found.

"Ah and the wanderer returns," Missy huffed dryly from where she was sat in amongst what remained of the chairs. Her hair was even more frazzled than when he had left her and he could only assume his warnings about the forcefield had gone unheeded.

"I said I would. I'm here for the long-term Missy." Tapping some buttons on his watch he stepped into the cage. "I liked that chair, what did you do that for?" He asked lightly, picking up what was a wooden leg from a chair.

Missy simply rolled her eyes at him in response. "You'll be here alone, then. I'm not here for the long-term."

"Missy," the Doctor started as he knelt in front of her. Missy watched warily, unsure of what was coming next. "Ever since you've returned from Gallifrey, you've been telling me we're still friends. The last few times I ignored you but I won't be doing that this time. I want us to be friends again but things need to change."

Missy shook her head. "Friends don't lock friends in Vaults for a thousand years."

"They do when that friend is a risk to every sentient being in the Universe- "

"Ah! There it is! You're keeping me here for the safety of the Universe."

"You didn't let me finish," the Doctor said calmly. "I was going to say you do when that friend is a risk to the Universe and a risk to themselves."

Missy's head bowed down in embarrassment and her cheeks reddened. "I'm not a risk to myself. Don't be ridiculous."

"You are. You need help, Missy. Please, just this once, let me help you."

There was a long silence in the Vault before the Doctor shuffled towards Missy tentatively. Taking her chin in his hand, he tilted her gaze up to meet his. It was impossible to ignore her trembling and he wondered how many others had done this to her with far harsher intentions.

"I've seen your injuries," he stated bluntly.

The cuts and bruises he'd seen as he had got her settled in the Vault were a mixture of injuries from the carefree, danger-fuelled lifestyle she led and her time in brutal prisons. He'd even noted some deep scar tissue that he could tell had been with her from the start of this incarnation. Though he was yet to check for any injuries to her psyche, he was sure they were there. As he'd changed her into one of his old shirts, he'd come to the grim realisation that locking her in this Vault was about to save her life in more ways than just saving her from the initial execution. There was only so long that even Time Lords could go on living the way she had been.

Missy remained silent and pulled away from his touch. Looking down at the oversized shirt, she finally noted that she had been changed.

"You changed me?" She hissed, looking down. "Like an invalid?"

"No," the Doctor shook his head and backed away to give her some space. "I changed you like a friend. I also changed you because I had to check I had all your weapons."

Missy's lips quirked into a small smile at that, though there was still a heavy sadness there.

"You haven't been kind to the Universe, Missy but the Universe hasn't been kind to you either. I'm doing this to help you and I hope that one day you're going to realise that." The Doctor spoke in a calm tone, watching every little movement Missy made.

"You saw my injuries?" She questioned after some time had passed in silence. There was a mixture of shame and fear behind her voice.

"I did. We don't need to talk about them now but I hope one day, you'll want to tell me what's been happening."

Missy nodded and raised to her feet, walking the short distance to the bed.

"I guess this is my new home then. I haven't had a home for a long time" she commented, perching on the edge of the bed.

"Neither of us have," the Doctor said as he kicked the remains of the chairs out of the way and pulled out two sandwiches from his pocket. "Catch!"

A bacon and egg sandwich made its way towards Missy landing in her lap. She stared down at it, not quite sure what to do with the offering.

"Well eat up," the Doctor ordered. "You must have worked up quite an appetite from all the screaming and shouting you did down here."

Missy looked over at him coyly and began to unwrap the sandwich. "It's bed and board, is it? Are you expecting a good Expedia review?"

"Take that look off your face, Missy. Coy has never suited you and it never will." He took a bite out of his own sandwich and watched as she nibbled at the crusts. "This isn't a hotel, this is still your— "

"My prison?"

"Your rehab."


	2. Chapter 2

The Vault doors clicked open and the Doctor walked in with a satchel over his shoulder, coat tails flailing behind him.

Missy half turned around to face him, lips turning downwards as she heard the locks bolting shut. She felt just the slightest breeze enter her prison and relished the slight smell of freedom that remained just out of her reach. Crossing her legs, she adjusted her shirt and waited for him to enter the containment field. It may have been her third month in the Vault but she still hadn't been trusted to be out of the forcefield when the Doctor wasn't there.

"Honey," Missy purred, fluttering her eyelashes for good measure. "You're home."

"Wrong way around" the Doctor quipped, entering the containment field and sinking into one of the chairs across from Missy. "I'm supposed to be the one that says that."

Missy tutted. "Where have you been? You've been gone ages."

The Doctor looked at her guiltily before looking down at his hands. It had been the longest time that he'd left her but things needed sorting. Questions had started to arise surrounding his arrival on campus and he had managed to put rest to several rumours by securing a teaching position at the University. Missy was going to have to get used to him being gone for longer periods of time.

"I've been gone five days," he said by way of an explanation. "It's not that long and Nardole has been bringing in food for you and letting you…" he paused and coughed. "Use the facilities."

Missy glared at him, feeling every inch the caged animal she'd become- let out from time to time only to stretch her legs and answer nature's call. "But I like it when you come. Not your butler."

"I'll be here for a few days now, okay?" He appeased, watching her nod. "It's the weekend."

"Weekend?" Missy scoffed, "since when did that matter?"

"I have a job at the University," he shrugged. "Seen as though this is a long-term arrangement, I may as well play the part."

Missy snorted and swung her legs onto the mattress, stretching her back out luxuriously. "What the hell kind of job did someone with your degree classification get at a University? Cleaner?" The Doctor ignored her remark and picked up his satchel. "I bought you some presents" he said, joining Missy on the mattress and emptying the satchel's content in front of her.

Missy leaned forward eagerly, scouring through the array of gifts like a child on Christmas morning. Most of the offerings were basics- shower gel, hair clips and the likes but there were some more indulgent items. An I pod (that he'd safety checked against attempted manipulation) and a plush, toy kitten seemed to have caught her attention the most. He thought they would.

"I know you get lonely when I'm not here," he shrugged as she placed toy in her lap and studied the I Pod intently. "Music helps me when I get lonely and when I can't sleep." He hoped she'd take the hint that he wouldn't be able to be there every night when she had her nightmares like he had been for these first few months. "And I thought the cat looked cute."

"Will you take them away from me when I misbehave?" She quipped, blue eyes looking up at him teasingly. She'd taken the hint that he wouldn't be staying as many nights as he had been but deliberately ignored it.

"That depends how much you misbehave."

It was an empty threat, he wouldn't take any of it away from her. Missy looked up at him, unconvinced as she started to organise the presents into piles. Picking up the bottle of shower gel, she opened the lid and inhaled its scent. Citrus. She liked it, she decided and added it to her mental inventory of things she liked. That had been a surprising turn of events that had emerged from her early months in confinement- slowing down enough to enjoy things in the Universe again.

"I like it. Smells refreshing" she smiled, placing it alongside the toiletries pile. The Doctor watched silently, content with her enjoyment. She still hadn't properly settled into life in the Vault and there had been several breakdowns in the last few weeks alone. If he were to let her out right now, he had no doubt that she would go back to her old ways in a heartbeat. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to spoil the moment for either of them by mulling over what could be.

"Did you bring me any new toothpaste? My teeth are getting all fuzzy." The Doctor was interrupted from his thoughts and looked up to see Missy running her tongue over her teeth and pulling an odd look of disgust.

"Yes," he stood and reached inside the satchel's inside pocket. "Here you go."

Missy beamed and took the boxed toothpaste from him, adding it to the meticulous piles. "How are you going to sleep tonight with all that on your bed?" The Doctor teased.

"I'm not sleeping tonight," she shrugged.

They both knew their species didn't need the excess sleep that humans and others required. It hadn't stopped the Doctor from trying to enforce a routine upon her. In fact, after she had finally relented to a proper examination of her physical and mental wounds about two weeks ago, he had been very serious about the whole thing.

"You are one bad mistake away from a regeneration," he had cried in desperation. "That's if you even manage to regenerate. No. Things are changing from now on."

Missy still hadn't managed to figure out quite why he thought he was a suitable role model for health and wellbeing.

"Sleep every night, Missy, even if it is only an hour. That's what we agreed" the Doctor said firmly, the image of her failing body still fresh in his mind. "You don't sleep every night," she responded with a pout. "I'm not recovering from several near-death experiences."

Missy's shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Whatever," she murmured looking at the shower gel longingly.

"Come on now, it's not that bad. We'll watch a film together tonight before bed."

It was like negotiating with a child and it embarrassed Missy more than she'd ever admit but she still nodded at his offer.

"Do you want a bath?" He asked, knowing she wouldn't have had one in the five days he'd been gone- she wouldn't be willing to go through the procedures with anyone but him.

While she was happy to have Nardole bring her food and take her to the bathroom, she wouldn't have him waiting in the bathroom with her while she bathed.

"Yes," Missy said, standing and retrieving her towel and dressing gown from where it was draped over her bedframe.

She grabbed the new shower gel and sponge and held it under one arm as she sat back down and held her free hand out expectantly. The Doctor attached one handcuff to her slim wrist and the other to his while Missy swallowed back bile. She felt like an obedient pet being taken for walkies.

"Off we go then," the Doctor muttered softly and awkwardly as he tugged his wrist back gently. "Do you want me to carry anything?"

Missy shook her head and struggled to contain the bundled pile in her arms. These were her treasures. The Doctor had bought them for her. He had gone out and thought about her and chosen something for her. No one was taking them from her, not even him.

The water was warm as Missy sank into it. A soft sigh left her lips and she splashed playfully for a few seconds.

"I was starting to smell," she sang. "Not as bad as your humans but not far off."

The Doctor coughed. "Keep behaving and I might start letting you have baths unassisted. Then when I'm away, you'll be able to continue to have them."

"I don't want you to go away."

"I'll always come back, Missy. I can't be with you all the time though. You still need punishment for your actions."

Missy made an odd little noise but didn't protest any further.

"Turn around and I'll change the dressing on your back."

They still hadn't discussed just how she had come to find herself in such a state and the Doctor knew he couldn't rush her into talking. He could make sure he looked after her though.

Several hours had passed by the time Missy was happy with how her new presents had been organised in the containment field. The Doctor had offered to help but she had batted him away on several occasions. Half of the reason for the length of time was down to her perfectionism, the other half was down to delaying going to sleep.

"Now that's sorted, get into bed."

Missy looked over at him, drowned by the flannel pyjamas he had bought her. He still wasn't used to buying women's clothes and had refused to go to the alien tailor that Missy had told him about. He knew full well that alien tailor was part-time tailor, full time mercenary.

"Will you get into bed with me while we watch the film?" Missy asked, looking over her shoulder at him. "You have been gone five days."

The Doctor hovered over the chair he had been about to sit in. It was his usual seat of choice for when he watched her settle down to sleep. At her request, he hesitated and gulped.

"If you get in right now." Missy shot into the bed at lightning speed and fussed with the duvet. The Doctor kept to his promise, joining her and handing her the controller.

"Your pick," he said. "But remember, no blood and no violence."

"What about Disney?"

"I guess that's allowed."


	3. Chapter 3

Missy's tongue hung out the side of her mouth as she ran the black polish over her little fingernail. Her movements were precise and planned, the bare nail was soon washed in a dark coat. Missy hummed considering her work and hesitantly placing the brush back in the pot. One done, nine to go.

"Have you only finished one nail?"

Missy looked up and over her shoulder from the vanity table, noticing the Doctor for the first time, and nodding. The smell of Chinese filled the Vault and she felt a wave of sickness wash over her.

"I'm not hungry. Don't bring that near me or I will vom."

She held her hand out and examined the one nail that caught in the light and glistened. It looked rather splendid.

"I'll vom so much that I'll chunder more than Cressida and Eugenie did at Glasto last summer."

She's been practising her accents again. Today it's her low voiced, plum in mouth attempt at estuary English. It's got nothing on her shrill Queen's- or should that be in this moment of time King's? -English. It's certainly not her thick Glaswegian burr that never fails sends to send a shiver down his spine. It is, however, better than her overdone French accent and slightly less disconcerting than her cockney one. She always reminds him of an East End witch when she speaks like that, voice just crying out to cackle at the end of every sentence.

"Bit early for Glastonbury. About thirty years too early" the Doctor responds, knowing she's talking nonsense but choosing to start with that and then work his way up to an actual conversation.

He hadn't stopped by in over two days after inadvertently helping when some London evacuees turned out to be from an all-together different London. No, not the London in Ontario but one from several planets and several thousand years away.

Missy's hand gripped the edge of the vanity and The Doctor instantly realised his mistake. He hadn't been telling her how long she had been in the Vault. Time moved differently there and she was cut off from being able to process it in her normal way. It was kinder he thought. After all, living in a linear time frame was a struggle for them both; he at least had relative freedom while she was quite literally locked away.

"So, it's what?" She questioned, voice clipped as her Scottish base accent seeped into every word. "1940?" It hadn't even been five years, Missy realised with a growing dread.

"1941, actually." The Doctor said meekly, as if it made the blindest bit of difference.

There was a heavy, expectant silence in the air for what felt like hours. It couldn't have been more than a minute. Time was funny in the Vault in more ways than one.

"We'll meet again. Don't know where, don't know when" Missy started to chorus abruptly, swinging her legs around her chair and standing, pacing the inside perimeter of the containment field in time with the rhythm in her head.

The Doctor watched her elegant movements and resolved for the third time that month that he'd bring her a musical instrument as a treat as soon as she showed a little more improvement. She'd always had an affinity for music.

"There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover" her voice didn't quite reach the notes in the way they should but they remained melodic enough.

The Doctor looked up, drawn from his thoughts and catching sight of her piercing blues examining them as she hummed the verses. He was suddenly aware of the forcefield dividing them.

"That's a different song," he commented not sure if she had realised.

She often just missed the bar with her human references. If human cultures had been a course at the Academy, it would have been the one class he achieved a higher grade than her.

"I know that" she protested, nose scrunching up in distaste at his assumption that she didn't know something. She was lying and they both knew it.

He smiled. Her nose always crinkled when she'd been found out on something small. Koschei's nose had crinkled the same way when he'd been found with his hand on Ushas' biology notes before their final exams in first year. Come to think of it, it was a twitch the Master had had even when big deceptions had been found out. The Doctor felt his mind leading him down a dark route and forced himself to stop.

"It's our song," Missy chimed head tilting as she observed the Doctor's faraway glance.

"The White Cliffs of Dover?"

Missy scoffed.

"We'll meet again," she corrected with a roll of her eyes. "They are different songs, you know. We'll always meet again. We don't know where and we don't know when but we always will" She trilled, pleased with a correct reference.

"You're idealising us," the Doctor says gently. "We usually know where we'll meet again. It's in the ruins of some planet you've destroyed."

"Well it shakes it up a bit. Me the idealist, you the realist" she coos. She's tracing a slim finger along the blue beams and the Doctor knows it's only a matter of time before she gets a warning zap. She knows it too and it bothers him how much she seems to want it to send electric currents through her.

He should adjust the locks and let her out but he's stuck on the spot, captivated by her baby blues and melodic tongue. Before he knows it, the conversation has escalated tenfold. It always does with her.

"Not that long ago that you were cradling me in your arms, begging me to regenerate." She pauses here, does that little gasp where she looks like she's stopped breathing all together and is frozen in that second.

Bringing her hand to her cheek, she lowers her eyelids halfway as though she is dreaming.

"I can still feel your tears on my cheek."

"Missy."

Missy throws her head back, grinning with eyes full of mirth. A messy curl falls loose and dangles down the back of her neck as she looks at him over her shoulder.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run" she sings eerily. "Don't let the Master have their fun fun fun."

Those aren't the words and he knows it's a deliberate mistake this time.

"Missy."

"That's more our song, isn't it?"

"Stop it now." He can feel his blood boiling.

Why can't she try harder to be good? She's playing him and he's let it go too far. There'll be no musical instrument for her if this manipulation carries on. Shame. He already had the piano he wanted to get her in mind.

"Okay, okay dear keep your lovely head of hair on" she smirks. "You have to admit it though who was idealising us back then? It was you and we both know it." Her lips turn up into what she thought was an endearing smile. It wasn't. "You said such pretty things to me. You asked me what you'd be without me. You forgave me. You idealised everything we have and had."

He's at the containment field in second, glaring at her.

"Enough. I forgive you now," he reminds her. Arms opened wide as he looks around the vast Vault. "That's what this is. This is me helping you and forgiving you."

Missy's jumped back towards her vanity table, grimacing. Had he scared her? The Doctor wonders momentarily as he tries to read her. Or had she been zapped harder than she expected? It would certainly act as a warning to her in the future if she had got a bit of a shock.

"I said" Missy drawls, "keep that food away from me. I wasn't kidding when I said I would be sick."

The Doctor looks up and catches her paled expression and the way she was holding the bedframe for support. Her adrenaline levels were playing up again and he hadn't noticed. She'd been in his care for nearly five years and he still failed to notice when her moods were excessively up and down, he realised grimly.

It was why she'd only had the concentration levels to paint one finger nail.

It was why she'd been doing those stupid accents.

It was why she'd been singing and winding him up so much.

And it was why she felt sick.

"Get that grease bag away from me," Missy seethed eyes now closed as she took a deep breath.

"Sorry, sorry" he hissed, stepping back and walking to the make shift kitchen unit. Opening the fridge, he placed it inside and walked back to the containment field. Holding his sonic out, he adjusted the settings and the walls fell away. To his surprise, Missy stayed where she was, not leaping out of the caged area as soon as possible as she normally did.

"Missy," the Doctor held his hand out. "You can come out of there now."

She really was being left there far too often for long periods of time. They were going to have to make some changes. No. He was going to need to make some changes. Despite the occasional jarring word, she had been relatively well behaved. Relative to her, that is. There must be a way he could let her out of the containment field and into the wider Vault while he wasn't there.

"I just felt a tad peaky," she sighed and returned to her plum in mouth accent. She couldn't understand why she was feeling so on edge but could tell she wasn't processing things right. She was on edge.

"You're restless," the Doctor offered her a label for what she didn't understand. "You've got a lot of pent up energy and I shouldn't have left you in there for so long."

"Yes. Yes, I suppose that's it." Missy turned her head and looked at the still opened pot of nail varnish.

"Bring that with you," he suggested as he watched her eye the nail varnish. "We'll sit by those windows, by the light and have some fruit tea while you finish your nails," he smiled and waited a few seconds. "You'll look silly with only one nail painted."

Missy swallowed and nodded quickly.

"I will." She agrees, screwing the lid shut tight and pocketing it.

"They aren't real windows."

"I know but I've made sure they project the closest thing to real sunlight. It'll be good for you."

Missy still hovered in the containment field, hand lingering over the stuffed cat he'd bought her during her first year in captivity. She had become attached to it far more than he had anticipated and had spent the better part of the third year begging him to bring her a real kitten. He'd put his foot down firmly against that idea, there was no way she was ready to care for a sentient being. She would probably kill the feline in a fit of rage and then regret what she had done as she begged for replacement.

He had, however, added some features to the cat that made it more realistic. Thanks to a robotic heart and voice box, it now purred and meowed like the real thing. Recently, he'd added an artificial emotional and physical needs system. This meant that it responded to Missy's touch in a positive or negative way depending on whether she was doing the right thing. It would also let her know when the cat was hungry or thirsty or need something from her. It was a way of helping her understand and learn how to care for something without risking her hurting it.

She'd been getting better at looking after the stuffed cat but it had taken her several weeks. The smile on her face when the cat purred in her lap, or nuzzled against her was enough to make up for him regretting to install an off button and spending several hours trying to silence the cat while Missy had shoved her head under her pillow and shouted at it to be turned off.

Missy seemed to need the soft affection that the toy cat (and on the odd occasion, the Doctor himself) gave much more than her previous incarnations had. It made him wonder how much she'd been deprived of any kind-meaning physical contact. She had started to talk a bit more openly about what had happened to her in the events leading up to her attempted execution but they were never more than off-hand comments.

"I don't want beans," she had said one evening as he had been preparing a jacket potato for her tea. "That's all they would give me, once a day, every day. It's easy to hide the drugs in the sauce."

"Who's they, Missy?" he had asked, placing the can opener down. "No one," she had replied.

Another time, the Doctor (not yet trusting her with sharp objects) had been helping her cut her nails. They had been having a heated debate over an academic article he'd just published and he'd teasingly waved the scissors at her as he stressed his points. Missy had scrambled away from him faster than he thought possible, put herself into the containment field and demanded he left instantly.

The Doctor was drawn from his thoughts as he heard Missy start humming to herself again. She was still hovering by the bed, eyes lingering on the cat and clearly trying to level out her emotions. She was getting better at that than she had been even a month ago.

"Bring Yana with us," he reassured as he tried to coax her out.

Yana was the name she'd eventually settled on for her prized ball of fluff, after changing it every day for six months. The Doctor hadn't initially liked it, thinking it was a deliberate attempt to hurt him. One night, though, she had sleepily confessed the reasoning behind the name choice.

"I called myself Yana to reassure you that you weren't alone. Now, this Yana reminds me that I'm not alone, even when I think I am and you've been gone for days."

The Doctor had said no more on the name choice after that.

Missy stepped tentatively out of the confinement field, holding Yana to her chest and scratching him behind the ear. "Good boy," she murmured to him as she placed a gentle kiss to his head and made her way to the Doctor.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, he guided her to the two leather seats by the windows. Yana's artificial emotion settings kicked in and a low whine-like noise filled the room. The Doctor recognised it but wanted to see if Missy was starting to decipher the different moods.

"He's hungry," Missy said in a quiet voice that didn't hold her usual certainty. She could lecture confidently for hours on the properties of a black hole, but lost face when it came to identifying an emotion- whether it was her own or his or a pretend cat's.

"That's right," the Doctor beamed. "Sit down and I'll get us some tea and some of those biscuits for Yana."

Those biscuits were tiny batteries that kept Yana working. Missy had come up with that idea herself.

Missy sat in the chair, restless energy still coursing through her as she moved her legs about and stomped each foot into the carpet. The Doctor watched silently as he set up the fruit tea in paper cups and sprinkled a handful of cat biscuits-come-batteries into a plastic bowl.

Setting it all on the tray he walked slowly over to the seats, careful not to spill any as he set it down on the coffee table. Yana repeated the same low-pitched whine and Missy immediately reached for the biscuits. Holding each one up to Yana's robotic mouth with thought and tenderness until the very last one was gone. Even though her hands trembled, it was clear she was starting to calm down.

The Doctor watched from the corner of his eyes as he blew on the fruit tea and took a long slurp. He grinned at the delighted noise Missy made as Yana purred and curled in her lap.

"Look," she gushed- her tone now more even and controlled as she started to balance out. "I did it. You should get me the real thing."

"Maybe in a couple of decades, Missy. It was only last week you'd placed him in a pillow case because he wouldn't stop making that whining sound."

Missy conceded with a shrug of her shoulders and went back to petting Yana. The Doctor finished his tea and resolved to give her five minutes before reminding her to drink her tea.

"You like me having Yana so that I learn to care for something other than myself, don't you?" She said when not quite five minutes had passed.

"That's one of the reasons."

"Maybe you should give me a baby. We both have all the right parts now," she gestured over her middle vaguely. Her lips were drawn back in a playful grin and she was much more stable than she had been earlier.

She was teasing him but getting the right balance.

The Doctor nearly choked. "I think that is one of the worst ideas you've ever had. And there've been a few."

"Spoil sport," she pouted and went back to petting Yana in repetitive motions. "If you carry on like this, I might bring you a plant in next week."

Missy turned to face him with a grin and he held his hand up to stop her quickly. "Not one with teeth."

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, the Doctor marking essays while keeping a watchful eye on Missy as she drank several cups of tea and eventually managed to stomach a few pork balls. The projection cycle started to dim to dusk as he watched Missy let out a yawn and rest her head on the arm of the chair. Yana remained cocooned up in her skirts as she pulled her legs up and sank into the chair.

"I was in a strange mood today, huh?" She asked contemplatively as she turned and propped her chin on her arms, staring at him.

"A little bit. Your adrenaline levels and emotions were a bit out of whack." The Doctor placed the stack of essays down and turned to face her fully. The last light from the window projections caught the dark shadows under her eyes. "Did you sleep while I was gone?" He asks, knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, curls tumbling loose. "You need to start sleeping while I'm not here."

"I can't."

"Missy, you're safe here."

"Not from my nightmares."

The Doctor sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I'll try and get something to help you sleep, okay?"

Missy nodded, suppressing a yawn.

"Want to tell me what the nightmares are about?" Missy shook her head.

"You're going to be here for a thousand years, Missy, we're going to talk about this stuff sooner or later."

"It's going to be later," she said in a heartbeat as her eyes drifted shut.

"What did you do when you had an episode like you did today- where your emotions and your adrenaline are all over the place- and you were on your own?"

"That's a thinly-veiled 'what did you ever do without me?' question. You're a walking ego sometimes" She mumbled, head back down and resting against the crook of her arms.

Saliva started to form in the corners of her mouth and dampen the fabric on the inside of her elbow. She was minutes away from sleep.

"I mean it Missy. You were anxious and uptight and all over the place. You didn't understand what was wrong and I know it's not the first time you've felt like that."

"I did things you wouldn't have liked. Things that have ultimately led me here."

"Okay," the Doctor replied simply, seeing she was tired and not really knowing what else he could say. Watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, her saw her breathing slow as she eventually gave into sleep.

Slowly, he walked over to her and undid her jacket. As he eased it off her shoulders, the tiny pot of nail varnish rolled out her pocket. The Doctor held his breath, expecting her to wake up from the noise echoing around the Vault. She simply let out a snore and curled up smaller.

The Doctor examined the small pot and looked down at the one finger nail she'd managed to paint.

"Well we wouldn't you to look silly now, would we?" He whispered to himself, smirking as he remembered this was the woman that had styled herself after Mary Poppins.

Pulling up the footstool, he sat down and started to carefully paint the rest of her nails while Missy remained fast asleep. Humming his approval, the Doctor looked down at her bare feet that drooped over the edge of the seat.

"In for a penny, in for a pound." He mumbled to himself as he moved to her feet.


	4. Chapter 4

In retrospect, the plant had been a bad idea.

"She's not going to be happy seeing me, sir" Nardole had forewarned as he lifted the tray carefully.

The orange juice shook precariously on the tray and Nardole's podgy hands forced themselves to still to save the salmon and asparagus that was plated up.

"Oh, don't put yourself down" The Doctor declared, not looking up from the student newspaper he was reading. "She's warming to you."

"She most certainly is not," Nardole snorted. "She's invented a new game. It involves trying to hit as many peas on my head as possible."

The Doctor looked up, eyebrows raised in what looked like concern.

"No, no, no. That's not right," he sighed tiredly.

"Thank you, sir. I'd appreciate it if you had a little word with her about appropriate dining etiquette."

"What?" The Doctor asked in confusion. "No, no. I don't care whether she knows how to use a knife and fork properly. She should be eating all her dinner. Nardole I sent you down there with strict orders about that. She's to eat all her dinner, not waste half of it on you."

Nardole's face hardened into a glare and he shook his head in disbelief.

"Anyway, she didn't invent that game, I taught her it in the dinner hall back in the day."

"I really think you're missing the point of my grievance."

"Take the dinner down there and watch her eat all of it. You can keep her in the containment field, just make sure the plate is empty."

Nardole opened his mouth to protest but the Doctor shut him up with a warning stare.

"Now Nardole."

It had been less than five minutes when Nardole's yelp of pain echoed into the Doctor's office. It was followed by a gleeful cackle that sent a cold shiver down his spine. In seconds, he was darting down the stairs and into the Vault.

The scene he discovered was slightly less concerning than he had anticipated. Only slightly. Nardole was huddled in one corner, holding a bleeding wound on his left arm as tears of pain threatened to spill down his cheeks. Missy stood to his side, leaning against the wall as she laughed theatrically.

"Oh, humpty dumpty! Your face" she wheezed, doubling over in fits of laughter before straightening and looking directly at the Doctor.

"That got you down here."

She examined him with cool, calculating eyes. One of her hands were coiled around a makeshift gun. It was a rather magnificent weapon, fashioned out of leaves and branches, shooting ceramic pellets that she'd retrieved from the plant pot. In other circumstances, he would have stopped to admire her handiwork. Right now, all he could do was regret bringing her the plant as a gift.

Casting his eyes over her shoulder, the Doctor caught sight of the broken pot and soil that littered the floor.

"Missy" he hissed, stepping towards her in two long strides and confiscating the gun.

"It's flower power," she cackled smugly. "You're always reading about all those damn hippies

"It's flower power," she cackled smugly. "You're always reading about all those damn hippies that populate the earth these days."

The Doctor swallowed, regretting not just the gun but also the calendar and television set he'd bought in. Not only was she now aware what decade they were in, she had a point of reference for current affairs. That was when she chose to watch anything other than the Magic Roundabout.

"Been out on a student march yet? No more nukes, no more bras, no more…" she paused, looked around the air as she considered her next words. "No more war."

The Doctor scowled, brow creasing and deep lines forming along his tired face. Every damn time she made a breakthrough, she seemed to take several steps back.

"Doctor," Nardole whined as he added extra pressure to the wound. Missy observed eagerly, licking her lips and smirking.

"I thought he was a cyborg," she chimed. "Indestructible."

"That's not how it works and you know it," he growled as he guided Nardole to the nearest seat.

"That's my seat!" Missy gasped in disgust. "Don't let him sit in it, it's mine!"

The Doctor ignored her, rolling Nardole's sleeve up and examining the wound. Missy tutted loudly and started to skulk off to her bed, picking Yana up.

"Where do you think you're going?" The Doctor seethed, Missy looked back at him in surprise. She didn't have time to respond before he clicked his fingers and pointed to the spot next to him. "Get here now and help me with Nardole's wound. I know you know how to repair it." Nardole gulped as the two Time Lords stared at each other. Eventually, the Doctor broke the silence. "It's what good people do."

"Good people don't shoot other people with leaf guns," Nardole mumbled.

Missy looked back down at Yana and considered sitting down on the bed and ignore everything else. She was bored of her game now.

"Leave Yana there and come and help me now, Missy."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child," she hissed though walked over and joined him.

Nardole gulped under her gaze. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"You'll be fine," the Doctor reassured as they set about on the first aid.

Nardole had been patched up in half an hour and had scurried off for some tea and biscuits after an insincere apology from Missy.

The Doctor was crouched down scraping up Missy's dinner while she remained sat in the confinement field. Striding towards her, he slammed it down in front of her and pointed.

"Eat."

Turning away, he opened her wardrobe and pulled out her pyjamas. He slung them carelessly on the bed, feeling Missy's eyes follow him around. Looking up to meet her gaze, he caught her eyes twinkling with mirth.

She was treating this like a game, he realised grimly. This is exactly what she had wanted; him down here with her.

"Take that look off your face," he ordered, sitting down and watching her from outside the containment field. "I don't expect you to make immediate breakthroughs but I thought after the twenty odd years you've been in here, you would have been above acts like the stunt you've just pulled."

Missy's grin faltered.

"Eat your food and then I'm going away for a few days. I have essays to mark, students to meet."

"You mark your essays down here with me. You always do."

"This is a punishment, Missy. I'm not going to spend time with you when you hurt my friends. Now eat your dinner."

Missy's retort died on her tongue and she reluctantly began to eat the salmon. She paced it out as long as possible, hoping that by the time she'd finished the Doctor would change his mind and stay.

The Doctor watched tiredly, standing up and retrieving her half full plate when it approached the hour mark.

"You've eaten enough. Clearly you're not hungry" he grumbled. As he walked out of the confinement field, he caught sight of Yana on the bed. He'd later look back on what he did next as petty, but in that moment, he couldn't care less. Swiping the robotic cat off the bed he carried it out with him, "Yana was a present, you don't deserve presents tonight."

Missy looked crestfallen as she looked up at him. For a moment, she looked set to burst into tears. That was before the anger set in and she shot after him, bashing her wrist against the barrier.

"Why are you treating me like a child?" She shouted in raw anger. "You love this. It play's right into your quasi-power complex."

The Doctor nearly snorted as she accused him of being the one with a power complex.

"Look at you. You're having a strop because I'm not spending all my time with you and I'm taking away a toy cat." That caused her to hit out at the containment field a few more times. "I wonder why I'm treating you like a child."

The Doctor turned and walked away, not engaging with her anymore. "Go to sleep, Missy. I'll be back in a few days."

The shouting and screaming continued for two whole days. The Doctor stayed away for another two.


	5. Chapter 5

It's four days after the unfortunate event in the Vault when the Doctor and Nardole are sat together in his office. The room is dimly lit and they are in a companionable silence. Outside, there is the faintest smell of a barbecue in the distance. There's a guitar playing not far away and the Doctor just has to close his eyes to imagine the peace circle of students, holding hands and singing together. He really loved the sixties. Glancing down at his newspaper, he scowled at the cover story and bloodied images plastered across the front page. Well, he loved most of it anyway.

"You haven't held any lectures all week," Nardole comments suddenly as though the thought is just occurring to him.

He's stood by the window, observing the young humans outside. They'd already witnessed two generations of students pass through the halls of the university and he is beginning to understand why the Time Lords had referred to them as mayflies. The Doctor turns, pleased for the distraction from the broadsheet. He prefers the optimism of the student published paper, he decides. He catches sight of Nardole's bandaged arm and suddenly it's four days ago and he's angry all over again.

"I gave them the time off to go to the peace protests," he shrugs, wiping his hand over the corners of his mouth. "I would have gone down there with them but I thought, given recent events, I should stay close to the Vault."

Nardole pulls an odd face and makes a noncommittal noise as he returns to his seat and pours some freshly brewed tea for them both.

"It's nice to hear myself think again," he comments eventually. "That screeching was getting akin to a Banshee and my ears were ringing all day yesterday even when she finally stopped."

The Doctor's face clouds in shame and he looks down into his tea. He knew he had to be better than this, for her sake, but he couldn't move past his anger. He looks over to the footstool and sees Yana perched atop it by the fireplace. If someone took a fleeting glance at the cat, they'd be forgiven for mistaking it as real. Nardole follows his eyes to the cat and says nothing.

"I think she's worn herself out," the Doctor comments, "she's probably sleeping it off."

He cringes internally and tries not to think of her like a toddler.

"Think?" Nardole snorts, "You mean you haven't been down there? I haven't been down there either. That's four days with no access to the food, water or the bathroom."

"I know you haven't been down there. She's being punished, Nardole" he reassures, knowing that the Cyborg was concerned about not doing his job. He may not have liked Missy, but he was loyal to his duties.

"Anyway, she isn't human. Four days for us is nothing."

Even as he says it, he doesn't believe his own words.

"That's all very well, sir" Nardole begins and the Doctor can just tell he's in for a lecture. "But it's not four days in the Vault, is it? It's four days in that containment field. Anyway, I thought you said you were trying to introduce a routine to counteract her chaos. Regular meals and routine, you said. This is most certainly not that."

The Doctor holds his hand up to Nardole, pre-empting what is coming next. He doesn't need to be told River wouldn't agree with what he's doing. He knows. He always knows how much he's disappointed all the people he loves.

"Alright, I get it" he grumbles. "I'm going to see her tonight, happy?"

Nardole shrugs and starts to collect the mugs up, he looks set to leave it when he pauses at the door.

"How old are you and Missy?" He asks curiously. "Older than you can possibly imagine."

"Hmm," Nardole says and the Doctor knows he's about to make an annoyingly smug comment. "And how long has Missy been committing acts of heinous atrocity?"

The Doctor glares at him, "you've seen the list of her crimes that she was awaiting execution for," he responds. "They were committed in one Earth year alone, so you do the maths."

"Hmm," Nardole comments again, adding "interesting. And, as a rough estimate, how many people has she killed?"

The Doctor doesn't respond to this and instead his eyebrows knit together. He could give a rough estimate but he doesn't want to. It would hurt too much.

"Is there a point to this?"

"My point is she's only been in that Vault for coming up to three decades," he sighs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Despite your dramatic vagueness, I can figure out that that is only around 0.05% of her existence, if that. You can't expect her to just change overnight. Remember, you have all the power here and she has none."

The Doctor pulls a face, but knows that he is right.

"I get it, okay. I'm going down there tonight."

Nardole nods smugly.

"Go there now and take that bloody cat with you," he points at the footstool by the fireplace. "When she wasn't crying for you, she was crying for Yana. Taking him away was just cruel."

It was silent as the Doctor approached the lofty Vault doors. He hesitated, calloused fingers coiled around a canvas bag that contained Yana and some supplies for dinner. He hadn't brought any new gifts this time, he may feel guilty but he wasn't going to reward her behaviour. She was having enough problems understanding right and wrong without him confusing her further. Pressing his ear to the door, it remained eerily quiet. Usually when he arrived at the doors, she would sense him and he would feel an excited flurry of psychic energy in return. But now, there was nothing. Biting his lip in anticipation, he slammed the numbers into keypad and stood back as they rumbled open.

Inside the Vault, the lights were dimmed and Missy seemed to have selected to keep the dailycycle projections on their evening settings. He didn't like it when she did that- he'd set up the day cycles to give her some grasp on the outside world and to prevent her from going too stir crazy. As he walked further into the Vault, a stale and human stench reached his nose. It had only been four days, he thought to himself, it shouldn't be that bad in here. Then he remembered it had been several days before that that he had spent any real time with her down here. When it was Nardole, she refused to have a bath or use the toilet or take care of any of her basic needs. There were still scraps of food by the door, left over from the other night, and that wasn't helping the smell.

"You can stop sulking with me now," he said as he caught sight of Missy huddled in the far corner of the containment field. It looked like a tornado had ripped through her cage- the bed was overturned, vanity table knocked on its side and all her books were ripped up and strewn across the floor. He congratulated himself on having the foresight to get non-breakable furniture. "We're having a chat. You and me." His concern grew slightly as he still received no response and he wondered if she was asleep.

Missy wasn't asleep. She was listening to everything he was saying and every step he took around the Vault. Did he have Yana? She found herself hoping as she heard him place down a bag and step closer to the barrier. When she heard his sonic change the settings on the containment field, she curled up smaller. Shame radiated from her as she awaited her inevitable humiliation. He'd already sensed that Vault was in a state- it was only a matter of time before he figured out how much of a state she was in herself. The duvet and sheets from her bed were bundled together and slung in the corner, attempting to hide her accident. The urine stain had darkened and over the course of the day and its stench was embedded in the material, wafting around the room as a staunch reminder of how primitive she had become.

She'd tried to tell him, before he left in a huff of righteous anger, that she needed to use the toilet but she'd been so overwhelmed with anger over him leaving and taking Yana that she hadn't found the words. Instead, she'd shouted and screamed and eventually cried. He'd already chided her for being childlike- what would he say now she had wet the bed? All her clean underwear and pyjamas had been taken from her a few weeks back because the Doctor had caught her trying to make some sort of incendiary weapon out of them. It had been decided then that only a minimal number of items could be kept in the containment field when she was alone. So now she was sat in her own mess, trying to hide it from him for as long as possible.

"Oh, Missy" the Doctor sighed, as he brought down the containment field's barriers and realised what had happened instantly. Guilt rose through the pit of his stomach, bile settling at the back of his throat. He was reminded again about the inevitable power dynamics that had formed in this set up. Missy didn't say a word, laying very still as the Doctor stepped up into the containment field. He chose not to directly mention the obvious, knowing she would be humiliated by the whole situation. "I think you should have a bath," he said tactfully and collected up the dirty bed sheets. Missy stood up, still silent as she stared at her feet. The Doctor looked over, saw the darkened patch of material on her pyjama bottoms. He wanted to look away but knew he had to be the bigger person. "I'm sorry," he sighed and tried to catch her line of vision.

Missy said nothing and raised her wrist out in front of him. For a moment, he wondered what she was doing and then it hit him. "No, Missy, the doors are locked. You can go and run your own bath, I'm not going to put the handcuffs on." He would have offered to run the bath for her, but thought she would want the chance to regain some control. "Okay," Missy murmured. Her voice was croaky and it was obvious she'd damaged her vocal chords again from all her shouting and screaming. That was going to have to stop. She was going to really hurt herself.

"The bubble bath you like is in the cupboard under the sink. Please don't try anything, I will stop you and neither of us want that again." Missy snorted and shoved past him, disappearing into the bathroom. The Doctor busied himself, changing the sheets and reorganising the carnage within her living area. All the while, he heard her running the bath and splashing around as she got into it and began to wash. He left it ten minutes before he joined her, peering into the bathroom and waiting for her to notice.

"Are you going to come in or are you just going to lurk?" Her voice had more bite to it now as it echoed around the high-ceiling of the bathroom.

"Am I allowed in?"

Missy tutted, waved him in and went back to running the sponge over her collarbone.

"You make it sound like I have any say in the matter."

"You do, Missy. If you want privacy I can leave you in peace."

"I've had privacy for the past week. I don't want it now."

The Doctor hovered, eyes focusing on the mosaic tile on the wall just above where Missy's foot is placed on the bath edge.

"Sit down," she barked, patience at its end. "You're making me uncomfortable."

He did as he was told, pulling the toilet seat down and sitting there. His eyes hovered over her dirty pyjamas and knickers and he found himself coughing again.

"Do you want me to throw these away?" He asked quietly.

They could be washed and salvaged but he doubted she'd want to be reminded of her indiscretion. Missy stared pointedly ahead, making a real effort to control her breathing.

"I should think so," she muttered and he could hear the shame in her voice. The Doctor nodded, collecting a bin liner from under the sink and shoving the pyjamas into it.

They remained in silence for half an hour or so, Missy's skin turning wrinkly in the water as he thought of things to say to break the atmosphere. He couldn't do it in the end and it was Missy that spoke.

"I wet myself," she laughed in disbelief. "I was laying in my own urine for a day and a half and you didn't even come down to check on me. Not once."

She turns her face to the Doctor and studies him carefully. Her hair is piled up on her head and bigger than he ever imagined it could be. He can see the grease within the frizz and resists the urge to tell her she should wash it. He doesn't want her to think of him as her carer. The Doctor's eyes land on that same mosaic tile and he spies the slightest crack in its interior, he resolves to check it later to ensure she isn't using it to smuggle things in to the Vault.

"Look at me." Missy's sharp orders force him to face her again. She's pale but her cheeks are flushed red. He knows its part embarrassment but more anger. Anger at him, to be precise. Her eyebrows pinch together in concentration and he watches her mouth curl spitefully as she forms her next words. "Does that make you good?" She spits, Glaswegian burr seeping through into every word. He doesn't respond, knows she's not finished. "Is this part of your plan to turn me good? Treat me no better than a dog you found wandering around some estate, whining and howling and starving all the while trying to avoid the stones the local kids are throwing at it. Am I supposed to thank you? Run to the door to greet you tail wagging, tongue hanging out in anticipation."

She pauses here and provides an illustration, tongue hanging out of her mouth as she pants. Her eyes are alight with anger and he thinks she could kill anyone with just that glare. She's still panting and he wishes she would stop because he doubts she realises quite how mad she looks. There's something deeply sad about when she hasn't quite grasped her own madness. "And then I roll over so you can scratch my belly and tell me I'm a good girl and give me treats. Except!" She's shouting now, angry voice high pitched, erratic and bouncing off every corner of the bathroom. "Except, I'm not quite the good girl you want me to be yet, am I? I'm still a bit rabid, a bit of a risk that could turn on the kiddies so you keep me locked up and swat me on the nose occasionally. But, Doctor… No, no, wait sorry, I should say Master," she glares at him pointedly and continues, "you need to be careful because I'm not quite house trained and you might come back to find me in a nasty, yellow puddle. That's okay for you though, isn't it? Because then you can find me with my tail between my legs, waiting for you to forgive me and make me better again. You'll bathe me and then let me lay my head in your lap as you pet me and tell me I need to try harder to be better."

Words stop leaving Missy's mouth after that, instead she descends into a series of noises he thinks are meant to resemble a dog. Pushing herself up onto her knees, her hands rest on the edge of the bath as she whines and sniffs and howls and yaps eventually breaking into a series of hearty barks. Briefly, the Doctor wonders why she's so preoccupied with canine metaphors. She's really committed to this example and he's sure she's barely seen an earth dog in her lives. As he watches her, he tries not to think of the old earth saying barking mad. Can't manage it and instead looks away, unable to stomach the sight of her like this. Missy's attempt at barking is louder now, echoing around the entire Vault and not just the bathroom. If Nardole happened to walk past right now, the Doctor doesn't know what he'd think. The Doctor himself doesn't know what to think as he watches her behaviour unravel further. It's like she's malfunctioning in front of his eyes and he doesn't know what to do.

Suddenly, there's silence. It's like a hurricane has ripped through the room and taken everything with it, leaving an unnatural peace in its wake. Missy's expression has hardened and there's a façade of sanity back in place. Her icy eyes meet his and she dares him to contradict anything she's just said. He can't find the words and stares at her with his mouth open. He's seen a performance like that from her before, of course, but it had always been in front of others. Then, he'd managed to convince himself that the extent of his friend's insanity was just for show- to make everyone else feel uncomfortable. Now, he's not so sure. It hits him like a punch to the gut just how sick she is. Missy's eyes are still unblinking as she watches his every move. There's still a redness to her cheeks as her lips quirk upwards into a smile that quickly descends into a low chuckle.

"Missy," the Doctor whispers because he doesn't know what else to say. He's standing up before he realises he's doing it and walking towards the door.

"Running away again?" She sneers, voice turning playful as she coos, "will you at least leave some newspaper down in my cage?" He swallows, walks back towards her and crouches down, searching her eyes for any sign that the Missy that helps him mark essays and plan lectures and beats him at scrabble is there. At that moment, she isn't.

"I'm not running away. I'll be in the lounge area." He stands back up, knees creaking as he does, and unclips her hair letting the greasy ringlets drop free. "You need to wash your hair," he says, deciding that maybe a carer is exactly what she needs as he turns and leaves the bathroom.

The minutes pass slowly at first as he waits for her. He tries sitting in his favourite chair by the fireplace but is fidgeting too much and eventually decides to get up and do something useful. He starts by brewing a batch of mixed berries fruit tea for them both. Despite Missy's best protestations that she hated all things human, she had a soft spot for that tea. It also always managed to calm her down. Then he sprays the sheets with a lavender spray from Yunper, making sure he gets the pillows especially. Finally, he's sorting through the canvas bag he'd bought in, pulling Yana out and placing him on Missy's chair. She sweeps into the room, draped in a dressing gown that's far too big for her and towel drying her hair. He watches warily, trying to gauge her mood.

"Doctor," she sings and sounds much more like the scrabble playing Missy. "You did stay." She walks into the kitchen area, eyes flickering over the bio-locked drawers in frustration. They contain all the goodies and sharp things but all she'll get is a nasty shock if she tried to open it.

"I said I would," he says cautiously as he follows behind her and tries to keep up with her mood swings. "Lovely," she pops her lips, catching sight of the tea. "Oh, even lovelier," she beams picking up the paper cup and taking a sip. "I like this tea. It's handsome," she comments.

She's using not-quite right English adjectives again and the Doctor can't help but smile at her. He finds it all rather endearing that she doesn't have the same grasp on English- or any other earth language for that matter- as him. She could easily choose to speak Gallifreyan when it's just the two of them but she selects English or sometimes French or Spanish and on the very rare occasion, Korean. She's such a wordsmith and a wonderful orator in Gallifreyan- all forms of it and their ancient mother tongue really let's her intelligence shine through. That's not to say that she doesn't sound intelligent in other languages- she does- it just tickles him that she struggles with little words when she's trying to be colloquial.

"It's handsome, is it?" He laughs softly and she nods obliviously.

"Handsomely scrummy." The Doctor laughs again but stills as he remembers her earlier mood.

"Missy," he ventures carefully.

"Are you okay, now?" He asks, because he doesn't know what else to say or how else to broach the subject. He knows he can't leave it though. She looks at him, wet hair plastered to her pale face, and nods.

"Are we okay?" She snorts, nods again.

"Hun, I raised my voice a wee bit. It's what we do, of course we're okay."

The Doctor balks at her- the display he'd witnessed was not her raising her voice slightly; it was one bark away from a full breakdown. He catches her examining him, a look of confusion painted on her face.

"You can be dramatic sometimes, dear" she tuts and leans back against the worktop.

He realises then, he had been right, she had no idea how bizarre her behaviour had been. He suddenly wondered how long she had spent alone to think the way she behaved was normal. He nods dumbly at her and chews his lip in consideration.

"I'm hungry. Will you make me some cheese on toast please?" Missy's always been impeccable with manners and the Doctor nods instantly.

"Certainly, I'm pleased you have an appetite."

It is a rarity and something he wants to encourage as much as possible.

"I'll bring it over when it's ready," he nods in the direction of their chairs of choice this month.

"Yana's over there," he says quietly, still feeling guilty for taking him and skirting around the things they need to talk about. Missy's eyes brighten and she disappears off in search of the faux feline.

It's later still when the Doctor finally brings himself to address the list of issues they needed to discuss.

"Do you understand why I was angry the other day?" He says suddenly, looking over at Missy as she showers Yana with attention.

"Missy?" He repeats when she doesn't respond.

He can't tell whether she's listening or not.

"Yes, yes I heard you," she croons.

"You were angry that I shot your round friend. But Doctor, I knew he wasn't human and I couldn't hurt him that much. I was only playing."

"That's not the point. You might not have hurt him badly but you did hurt him."

Missy scoffs, rolls her eyes and goes back to stroking Yana.

"He needs lots of cuddles, he's missed me"

"Nardole?" The Doctor asks incredulously.

"Yana!" Missy scoffs in response. He watches her with the robotic cat, sees her using it as a barrier and softens his voice.

"Missy, come on, I'm trying to talk to you properly. We need to work out something because I don't want this to happen again."

He's talking about it all- about her hurting Nardole, making weapons, getting herself worked up to levels of hysteria.

"I didn't even kill him, Doctor. A few years ago, I would have killed him in an instant."

"Okay," the Doctor says in a low voice of consideration.

"But why did you do it Missy?" He knows what the answer is, wants to see if she'll tell him the truth.

"I wanted to see what sound he made when he screamed."

"No, Missy, I'll give you another chance. Why did you do it?" She sighs, looks over at him.

"Are you getting off on this? Do you like having this power over me?"

The Doctor shakes his head.

"I'm trying to help you." She tuts and her face darkens into a scowl. "I wanted to see you, you hadn't been for days and I thought you'd forgotten me."

The Doctor nods as he finally receives the answer he wants.

"You can't do that to get my attention," he says but there's not bite to his words. "You know you can contact me via the psychic paper if there's an issue."

"But there was no issue." He remembers how literal his friend is. "Okay, if there's an issue or if you're lonely. It's okay to be lonely."

Missy swallows.

"Will you actually come?" The Doctor tilts his head in consideration.

"I will try to get here as soon as I can. I must teach, Missy. I need to make sure people think I'm leading a normal life and keep suspicion away from the Vault."

"There were some drunk students outside the doors the other day," she comments. "I don't like them getting too close, they smell."

The Doctor laughs, "try teaching them. Look, I'll try and get some more barriers up around the stairwell, okay?" Missy nods.

"I'm tired now," Missy murmurs after a few moments.

"Did you get some more of those yummy tablets?"

The Doctor nods and touches his jacket pocket. He worries briefly whether she is depending on them too much and vows that that's something that can be addressed soon.

"Did you sleep at all while I was gone?" Missy shakes her head, I drifted a bit when I'd stopped throwing things around. I did try though."

The Doctor stands up,

"I'll put something in your tea now. Is that okay?" She nods and yawns. He could probably get away with not giving her the sleeping tablets, she was that tired, but he didn't want to start going behind her back now. This rehabilitation needs to be built on trust.

"Missy," he pauses in contemplation she turns and looks at him curiously. "the way you behaved in the bath earlier, that wasn't normal. You know that, don't you?" She tilts her head and looks up at him in confusion.

"It wasn't?"

The Doctor sighs. "No, Missy, it wasn't."


End file.
